


You Came, You Called

by Anduril_Narsil549



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Jason Todd Whump, Trauma, Worried Bruce Wayne, cold weather and old injuries suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anduril_Narsil549/pseuds/Anduril_Narsil549
Summary: "I can't...can't do...two days. Don't make me," he plead. "Please, please don't make me do two days...""Two days of what?""Don't be...an idiot...Tim," he panted as the claws grabbed him again, clamoring to pull his mind down into the depths of agony worse than his body could throw at him. They dug deep, and a cry escaped his lips."Jason, two days of what?" the voice demanded again. But he didn't hear.He could only see the glint of metal. Feel the shifting of soil through stinging fingers. Breathe more dark earth than air. Taste blood on his lips--
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 473





	1. Two Days

**Author's Note:**

> Some depictions of violence as the first chapter is largely Jason having flashbacks of dying, nothing that I feel is terribly graphic though. Also some language in the second chapter because...Jason.

Despite what Alfred and the rest of the Waynes thought, Jason wasn't opposed to taking pain medication. In fact, there were times that he would take some even without Alfred's prompting.

Like right now. That is, if he could convince himself that getting up and enduring the agony of the ten steps from his couch to his bathroom was worth the lightened load of misery for the next...however long this lasted.

Breath hissing out his nose, he laid his head back and closed his eyes, willing the pain to at least not fill every bit of his consciousness.

_The earthiness of soil filled his nose. It was something that he hated, that people didn't know the difference between soil and dirt. It was so obvious, so distinct. The smell, full and rich, not dull and sinuous; the sound of it shifting and trickling, landing on slats of wood with something that could only be described as confidence or arrogance, not sibilant and soft; and the feel on the fingers--_

Jason jolted, eyes flying open as his body screamed at him for moving. But he didn't care.

Gaze fixated on the ceiling, his chest heaved for breath. He sat there, the pain in his ribs, his fingers, his legs, his neck, his shoulders, his head all pulsating, pulling, clawing, grabbing at strange intervals as his heart thudded in his ears. Swallowing hard, he tried to lock his mind on something innocuous.

Like how much the _cursed weather_ of Gotham was doing its _absolute_ best to make his life misery right now. 

Gritting his teeth, he moved his eyes to try and find where he left the blanket, because, really, he was in enough pain from moving from his bedroom to the living room he wasn't sure where he'd dropped it.

Considering he couldn't see it, he settled for prolonged pain rather than instantaneous torture that would be standing and searching for it or getting a new one from the chest on the other side of the room.

He shifted his leg carefully until it was propped on the coffee table in front of him, awkwardly twisted to relieve pressure from his knee while simultaneously applying pressure to his ankle. Torquing his body until it was at a 45 degree angle from the back of the couch, he laid with a pillow cushioned such that it over-stretched his side just slightly. Finally, grabbing his phone, he growled at the normally inconsequential weight of it pulling against his fingers.

Fingers that had been broken and torn too many times. Fingers that had clawed against--

Hastily setting the cold piece of electronics down, he clenched his hand into the warmth of his shirt. Air worked its way raggedly in and out of his lungs. He tried to push the offending memory away. _Think of the weather, think of the weather..._

_Wood digs harshly into tender, sensitive pads of fingertips. It gets slicker, more difficult to find any purchase, the slipping of fingers on the bloodied material seeming a taunt, a mock, a sneer--_

Jerking hard, Jason drove his fist down on the arm of the couch. The sound was enough to latch onto, to pull his mind away.

He unlocked his phone quickly. Poking the screen gingerly, the fancy weather app he'd found some time back came open. _Please be gone soon, please be gone soon..._

Something like a moan crossed with a sob leaked its way from his throat. This low pressure zone and the accompanying cold weather was supposed to be here for another _two days._

Shuddering, Jason braced himself. "You can do this, it's only two days," he muttered, even as he pushed the phone wearily from his leg, it's sudden absence a relief. He took one deep breath and let it out slowly, wincing against the pain in his ribs as he did so. Gingerly, he took another, slightly lighter breath, and let it out. His heart was still in his ears, but it wasn't near as fast.

"Two days," he whispered. "Two days." He was just starting to believe he might be able to. Maybe he might even be able to get up for some water, take some pain meds, get a blanket so that--

So that _this_ didn't happen.

A gasp and several seconds later, Jason had managed to push back the grabbing blackness from his vision, though the spasm in his shoulder refused to release its burning hold.

_The merciless kiss of cold metal against his shoulders, his ribs, his legs, his arms, was inescapable. Again and again the savage touch met his body with frenzied hatred, fierce vehemence, unabashed fervor..._

_And finally, it hit higher._

A pained shout filled the space, and Jason found himself on the floor, shaking. His eyes caught glimpses of that _face_ , that horrid _face_ , and that _laughter_ filled the room eerily--

Ignoring the catching of his flesh as he moved, he shifted one shaking hand to take hold of the phone.

He couldn't do two minutes, let alone two days. And, as laughter echoed through his mind and the brush of cool metal teased his skin, it wasn't a coherent thought that moved his muscles. It wasn't a thought at all.

It was the same desperation that had filled him then.

Fighting for breath, the ringing of the phone was muted as it competed with that man's cackling.

The fact that the ringing was replaced with a quiet " _Hello?_ " did make it through Jason's tormented brain enough for him to stammer out, voice no more than a whisper, "Tim, please, I-- _please,_ I need--I need someone--" Words stuck in his throat, lodged there as his eyes widened at the sight of a crowbar rushed toward his head.

"Jason! _Talk to me. What's happening?"_ A whimper escaped him. Bringing one throbbing arm over his head, he shook and jolted as another blow landed on his ribs.

" _Jason, status, now._ " Vaguely Jason wondered when Tim had gotten the guts to get so snappy with him, even as his eyes rebelliously took their time to focus. To focus on the edging that went about the crease where the wall met the carpeted floor.

"Tim..." It was all he could manage before claws dug into his back, taking all focus he had to not get sucked back into that...

That hellhole.

" _Keep talking to me_ ," the voice on the other side of the phone demanded. _Demanded._ And _when did Tim's voice get that deep?_

"I can't...can't do...two days. Don't make me," he plead. "Please, please don't make me do two days..."

" _Two days of what_?"

"Don't be...an idiot...Tim," he panted as the claws grabbed him again, clamoring to pull his mind down into the depths of agony worse than his body could throw at him. They dug deep, and a cry escaped his lips.

" _Jason, two days of what?_ " the voice demanded again. But he didn't hear.

He could only see the glint of metal. Feel the shifting of soil through stinging fingers. Breathe more dark earth than air. Taste blood on his lips--


	2. You Came

The sigh that had been pressuring Bruce for the past thirty minutes finally found its way from his lips. It was quiet, and should have easily been lost in the vastness of the cave.

"Master Bruce, need I remind you that, if you had followed my instructions to begin with, you would not be in this position?" Alfred moved about behind him, giving the place a thorough cleaning. Which, as Bruce thought about it, he wasn't sure when the last time the place had one was, so...perhaps Alfred not being on monitor duty was one benefit of him being out of commission.

Settling back heavily in his chair in front of the monitor, Bruce refrained from sighing again. He shifted his arm, sling resting uncomfortably against his shoulder. "Hn." Alfred was right, of course. But he didn't have to admit it in so many words.

"Perhaps this stint on the monitors will teach you to rest hyper-extended joints in the future?" The sound of Alfred shifting some medical supplies floated across the space between them.

" _Oooh, getting lectured by Agent A, are we?_ " Dick's voice carried far too much mischief with it through the comms.

" _You know, I'm surprised that B doesn't just take Agent A in the field and have him give criminals a telling off. Crime in Gotham would drop to zero."_ Wind filled the background of Tim's transmission, then abruptly ceased. He must have been grappling.

" _You make a good point_ ," Dick commented. " _Why don't you do that, B? Have no other hobbies to fall back on if you can't dress like a bat at night?_ "

"Focus," Bruce ground out. The fact that he was out of commission was bad enough. He didn't want one of his sons making a mistake and being put in the same position. Or worse.

" _Spoil-sport,_ " Dick pouted, but they quit talking.

"Status report," Bruce commanded after a long moment of quiet.

" _Same as before B. Tonight's been as quiet as it ever gets,"_ Dick commented.

" _Ditto."_ Bruce felt like commenting on Tim's lack of information, but knew it would be nit-picking born out of frustration that he was benched rather than anything helpful, so he let it slide.

"Nightwing, patrol three blocks to the east. A report of--" He barely tripped over his words as his private phone buzzed from beside him. Frowning, he wondered who would be calling him. Perhaps the Kents? Damian was staying with them this week. "An attempted robbery."

_"Hm, I wonder if it's Catwoman? I'll be sure to say hi if it is."_

_"It wouldn't have been 'attempted' if it were her, N. She's too good for that_." Tim's reply barely registered before Bruce had grabbed his phone and glanced at the caller ID. His heart stuttered.

_Jason_.

"A, take over comms." He stood abruptly, chair rolling back. Pulling equipment off his head, he handed it to Alfred, who shot him a look. Something of worry mixed with sternness. Bruce didn't care. His mind was on overdrive.

When it came to Jason, he basically never called Bruce's private phone. There were only two times Bruce remembered him calling this number. Once, because he needed some legal documents addressed. The other, because it was a dare from Roy. Both harmless enough.

But, when it came to Jason, things were always a crap-shoot.

Accepting the call, he placed the phone against his ear and stepped further away from the computer. "Hello?" he said softly. Because, for some reason, his throat was tight.

" _Tim, please, I--_ please _, I need--I need someone--"_

Already Bruce was pushing Alfred away from the computer and tracing the call. Pushing down the fear that gripped his throat, choking the terror that bit into his heart--

"Jason, talk to me." Alfred's look snapped to Bruce's face, but Bruce was laser focused on his task.

A strange noise, almost a choked sob, hit Bruce's ear as he was waiting, anger at the time the computer was taking growing as he listened to the gut-wrenching noises his son, _his son_ was making on the other end of the phone. Incoherent pleading, gasping, whimpering...

" _Jason!_ Talk to me. What's happening?" He hoped he would get some sort of idea, because his mind was making and discarding theories faster than ever. At least he could dismiss the possibility that a villain was attacking. Jason wouldn't be calling on his cell if that were the case. But what _was_ happening _?_ The man sounded like he was--

A harsh cry of pain.

" _Jason!_ " Bruce couldn't help the fear that came out as abusive authority. "Status, _now._ "

Silence, save for ragged breathing.

Bruce was about to demand a report again when the computer finished. With hardly a glance he got the address and was already sprinting for the garage.

Sliding into one of the cars, he started it and put the phone on speaker.

" _Tim..._ " came the whisper before a strangled gurgle cut it off.

"Keep talking to me Jay," Bruce commanded. Tearing over asphalt, he briefly lamented that his arm was in a sling, but was thankful for the foresight not to grab a manual car.

" _I can't do...can't do...two days. Don't make me._ " A sob came through the tinny speaker, piercing Bruce. " _Please, please don't make me do two days..."_ The plea trailed off, heavy breathing once more filling the air.

"Two days of what?" Bruce asked, as much to keep Jason talking as to try and figure out just what was happening.

" _Don't be...an idiot...Tim._ " The reply was panted out, as though it cost Jason more energy than he had left. Bruce had already opened his mouth to reply when an agonized cry ending in a broken sob shredded his heart.

Stepping on the gas, he careened the car into a parking space. Snatching the phone and a bag, he ran for the apartment.

"Jason, two days of what?" he asked, desperate to have his son's voice on the phone, desperate for something, _anything_ that would indicate he was still conscious.

Anything other than the whimpers and the groans.

" _Dad's not...not coming..._ "

Of all the things, that was what came closest to flattening Bruce to the ground.

"Oh Jay," he murmured, legs pumping harder up the stairs at the hopeless, resigned words.

Grinding to a halt in front of the door, he already had his lock-pick out and was in the doorway before he took another breath.

Blessedly, it wasn't difficult to find his son.

Cursedly, it was because he was jerking on the floor, hand thrown over his head.

Bruce was on his knees, hands on Jason's arms. "Jason." Jason twisted against him, bucking against his hands, babbled pleas disjointed as they mingled with sobs and gasps.

" _Jay_ ," Bruce dodged a limb before getting a better grip on his son. "Jay, it's alright." Slowly, the man stilled, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, chest heaving. Bruce waited a moment, wanting some sort of indication which way this was going.

Jason's eyes pinched shut, and he shook harshly.

"Jason, it's alright. You're going to be fine. Just breathe." Shifting his hands, Bruce pulled Jason upright, leaning him against his chest. He was so fragile, his bulk telling lies about the softness and vulnerability of the soul within as he trembled hard enough it seemed he would break apart. Jason made to curl up again, but Bruce laid his arm around the front of his shoulders. Jason clutched it.

"Breathe with me. Ready. In...hold...out..." Jason barely got half a second of inhale before he choked out a sob and gasped.

"Breathe, Jason," Bruce said again, voice rumbling against Jason's back. Exaggerating his movement, he led Jason through ragged breaths that slowly turned to full, albeit, shaky inhales.

"That's better," he said gently. "Let's get you off the floor." Throwing off his sling, he laced his arms under Jason's and lifted his son as though he weighed little more than either of his two youngest. He winced slightly at the pull in his arm, but pushed it aside.

He froze at the gasp that assaulted his ears. Shifting, he used extra care as he sat Jason on the couch. Jason didn't resist him. In fact, he folded like a rag-doll as he was settled into the cushion.

Frowning, Bruce turned to grab his bag. He needed to know if injuries were involved or--

His son's hand on his wrist stopped him dead. Eyes snapping to scarred, trembling fingers, he was quickly released. Glancing up, he was in time to see Jason's throat bob, and red rush to the pale, sweat-covered face.

"Where are you injured?" Bruce asked, heart stuttering as he wished that he was better at this.

Jason's face twisted slightly into something distasteful, and Bruce knew he misstepped. _How he wished to be better at this_.

"Like how you just assume." Jason's words were a fortunate and an unfortunate confirmation both that he was feeling more himself and that Bruce was _horrible_ at this. Bruce didn't have a response as he watched the man's head tiredly roll to the side, eyes closed. Like he assumed Bruce would just _leave_ now that a crisis was averted.

Bruce grabbed his bag and knelt in front of the couch. Taking one of Jason's arms, he carefully ran his fingers along its length, pressing and prodding, checking for any sign of injury, anything to explain the pain etched across his son's face.

Jason tensed, and Bruce expected him to pull his arm away with a vicious, cutting remark.

He was stunned when Jason's muscles minutely, then more obviously, began to loosen under his touch.

"Tell me what happened," Bruce said again, this time softer, more patient. He took a grip of himself. Jason wasn't in any immediate danger. He could wait out his stubborn streak.

His focus was so much on feeling for broken bones or torqued joints that the sob was entirely unexpected. Tensing, his eyes shot to Jason's face.

To eyes pinched closed, mouth twisted against the silent agony of the heart.

Jason was quiet, and Bruce switched what arm he was checking over. Still, Jason's muscles gradually released.

"Sorry to disappoint you that I'm not Tim," he tried. That got a deeper frown from his son.

"Why are you here?" Jason asked, words cold enough to make Bruce wince internally. "Why did you come?"

"You called," Bruce replied simply.

Jason opened his eyes, considering Bruce distrustfully. He stared for a solid minute before his eyes flicked over Bruce's face. "You came," he said slowly, as though testing the words out, seeming to hunt for anything that smelled of ulterior motives. Something other than the simple truth couched in those words.

Something that would crush the hope that they offered.

"You called," Bruce repeated, eyes shifting over Jason's face just as warily as his son's did over his. They caught briefly on a bruise forming on the right of Jason's face, then met Jason's look.

Guarded hope had replaced the wariness.

And, abruptly, it was gone as Jason closed his eyes. With a moan, he laid his head back.

"I can't believe Tim wasn't the top contact," he muttered. "I swore I'd called him last." He fell silent, and Bruce continued checking his arm.

"Give me something for this," Jason finally demanded, gesturing to himself.

"I can't give you something if I don't know what I'm treating," Bruce commented, gently taking Jason's ankle and feeling it over.

"You fucking stubborn ass," Jason spat. "Can't you just trust me?" He paused for a moment. "And grab me a blanket?"

And that's when Bruce managed to put it together. "Weather change?" he asked. Surprisingly, Jason just nodded.

"Why didn't you take something before it got this bad?" he asked, standing and glancing about for a blanket. _And why in the world were you panicked on the floor when I got here?_

Red flushed down Jason's neck. "Got to me faster than I thought it would this time." A shiver passed through him as Bruce spotted a chest opposite the couch and strode to it. Opening it, he removed two blankets. Shaking them out, he returned to Jason and laid them both over him.

"Meds," Jason snapped. Bruce felt like rolling his eyes.

"As if I could forget," he settled on instead. Grabbing his bag, he pulled out some generic pain relievers and handed them over with a bottle of water. He watched Jason take them, and his eyes settled again on the bruise. Kneeling, his hand darted to it, brushing against the mottled coloring, before a sharp movement flicked the white hair back that was dropping in Jason's eyes. His touch barely caught his son's forehead.

A shudder passed through Jason at the slight touch, and a gasp broke from him as his whole body jolted.

"Jay?" Bruce gripped his wrist through the blanket.

Jason's eyes fixed on him, and slowly, slowly, he relaxed under Bruce's hand.

"Where did this come from?" Bruce asked, glancing at Jason's cheek. _What happened?_ was the actual question. He hoped that the roundabout way of asking would actually get him an answer.

"Not sure," Jason muttered, eyes turning away from Bruce.

"Not sure?" Bruce pressed, hand tightening slightly on Jason's wrist.

"Hard to fucking remember when I thought I was getting beaten," Jason snarled, shaking Bruce's hand. But he didn't push it off, and stopped after only a moment.

Bruce opened his mouth to ask another question, then froze.

" _Dad's not...not coming..."_

His look involuntarily went to Jason's crown. He braced for Jason's growl about how long it took him to put it together, even as he tore himself apart for not realizing it.

It never came. Jason was still staring at the floor.

_"You came."_ The confusion, the mistrust...

Sighing, Bruce carefully sat himself on the couch. Hesitating, he put his arm around Jason's shoulders. Jason didn't lean into him.

Neither did he pull away.

"Jay." Bruce found his throat tight. He wished he were better at this.

Clearing the offending tightness, he tried again. "Jay, I'll always come for you."

Jason didn't say anything, but he settled back into Bruce's arm ever so slightly.

"I'll always come when you call."

"Whatever, old man." Jason said after a moment, pulling the blanket higher onto his chest. "Since you're here, make me some soup."

Bruce leaned over him and planted his lips in mussed, sweaty hair before standing and going to the kitchen. His eyes lingered on the back of Jason's head as he pulled out a canned soup.

_You came._

_You called._

He wished he were better at this. But he hoped Jason would be able to hear all that was in those words, all that Bruce wanted to say but never seemed able to. All that Bruce had ever felt since the first time he thought of Jason as his son. All the pain and pride and hope and love he had wrapped up in the broken, young man on the couch.

_You came._

_You called._

For now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! I always love feedback/suggestions and if anyone has a request, please drop it below!

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo...yeah barometric pressure and cold weather are absolute agony on badly treated/poorly healed injuries, and unfortunately Jason probably has a plethora so there ya go...
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter! As always, I love to hear feedback, and if you have a request, please drop a comment below!


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